The Hymn of Shattered Mirrors
by Xiana Asuka
Summary: When the ice melts, the cool water streams between sandy particles, softening sharp edges with each fluid drop. [GaaraHaku]


Xiana: Wow, I actually wrote something that's not Kingdom Hearts related! This is a story I wrote for** Ramen Ichiraku**'s birthday, yeah, that was a while ago, but I'm going to post it up here now! She is a fan of the Gaaku, meaning Gaara/Haku, pairing, so yeah, that's what this is.

**Words in bold** ** refer to Gaara.**

_Words that are italicized refer to Haku._**

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**He** had never before felt a longing as powerful as he felt now. Want, **he** had felt before, but this want wasn't nearly as mundane as hunger or **his** body's eternal longing for sleep, or as hopelessly desperate as the quest for affection **he** had once undertaken only to draw back into **himself** deeper than anyone had expected. They had rejected **his** friendly advances, run from **his** approach, and feared **him** before **he** had known that **he** was something to be feared. But **he **had never seen any of that hate that had so unreasonably filled the eyes of the villagers in the soft brown eyes of the one who **he** longed for and needed more than **he** had ever thought possible.

It was, perhaps, because _he_ was an outsider. _He _had not been taught since birth that **he** was a monster, a demon, a murderer. But _he_ did know. **He** had told _him_, and _he_ had simply accepted it. _He _understood, and did not judge **him **for mistakes that were not **his** own.

It was ironic, then, how _he_ blamed _himself_ so much for what _he_ could not possibly control. From the moment of their first meeting that night, two years ago by the riverside, _he_ had refused to acknowledge that their deaths were not _his_ fault. _He_ had not been taught properly, and _he_ had been misled by the one _he_ had once called "sensei." It was a fragile game **he** played, a game in which _he_ was innocent, beautiful and good and whole, completely without flaws.

But _he_ did have flaws. _He_ had caused the deaths of _his_ parents, directly or not. _He_ had slain hundreds, possibly thousands, in _his_ master's name. And _he_ was still full of guilt, unable to forgive _himself_ for actions set into motion by others but performed by _his_ own hands. Oh, **he** might pretend that _he_ was perfection incarnate, but the superficial imperfections that cut into _his_ heart of crystalline diamond gave _him_ that third dimension, releasing _him_ from the thick mirror of glass that condemned _him_ to be **his** antithesis. And the flaws that they shared, the sins they had committed, were what allowed **him** to love _him_, and _him_ to love **him**.

_He_ could never say that **he** was perfect. **He** had made that quite clear, from the moment **he** had pulled _his_ delicate, effeminate body from the grasp of the river, and, upon _his_ awakening, had heard _his_ faint whisper of "Angel?" Though _he_ had been half-dead, almost drowned, **he** had shaken _him_ in an attempt to rattle the thought out of _his_ head. "Listen, kid, I'm no angel." But _he_ had known, even as _he _slipped into unconsciousness, that **he** was. Not any typical angel, but a fallen angel. **He** was someone who wore **his** scars openly, as if daring someone to reopen the old wounds. But _he_ knew that** he** didn't want to be wounded again, that **he** had never wanted to be hurt. **He** was a fallen angel, but one who had been forcibly dragged down from heaven by the clutches of eternally jealous devils. If anyone in the world had been wronged, it was **he**. **He **was full of a darkness not of **his** choosing, and **his** heart was locked within the most impenetrable prison imaginable, a prison created for **him** by each spiteful word ever said to **him**. It had taken _him_ so, so long to infiltrate that prison, and so _he_ knew what **he** had done. But _he_ would never hold it against **him**. Never, never, never.

**He** had wanted _him_, and _he_ hadn't known for so long. It had been so obvious to everyone except _him_. They had seen the way **he** stared at _him_, drinking in every image of _his_ long black hair, so often tied up in a round bun or left to swing loosely around _his_ shoulders. They had noticed how **he** made every excuse to stay near _him_, how reluctant **he** was to ever leave _him_ alone. And they had watched that night when **he** had taken _his_ soft, unblemished hands into **his** own and said the words that **he **had longed to say and _he_ had yearned to hear for a very long time.

_He_ had shown _his_ affection in less obvious ways. Nobody had seen the way _his_ eyes, hidden behind that mask, tracked **his** every movement. Nobody had noticed how _he_ never chose to leave **his** side, how **he** was the one to leave, however reluctantly. And though they watched that night, they never expected _him_ to acknowledge **him** and to return **his** feelings with a soft kiss on the cheek.

And then their secret was out. From then on, they had been happy, inasmuch as _he_ had ever known happiness, and **he** had ever known the love of another. And they lay together, side by side, on warm summer nights, looking to the stars in wonder and hope. In winter, they sat inside and stared out into the snow that reminded _him_ so much of home. Spring was when they watched the flowers grow and come to life. When they saw an iris in full bloom, **he** would give it to _him_, and _he_ would smile and blush and treasure it until it wilted, or press it between the pages of a book to be able to cherish it always. In fall, _he_ would return the favor, seeking out the most beautiful and vibrant of the dying leaves to give to **him**, to show **him** what _he_ had achieved that day.

_He_ was like a flower. When **he **awoke and saw _him_ lying beside **him**, _he_ was just a bud. When _he_ woke to meet **his** gaze, _he_ reached maturity, unfolding one petal after another as _he_ stretched sleep-weary limbs. Throughout the day, _he_ was fully grown, bright, happy and always facing towards the sun in order to drink in its energy. By evening, _he_ began to fold and droop, becoming weary and showing signs of aging. Then sleep took _him_ into its deathly clutches, killing _him_ in a slow, unsightly manner, withering _his_ petals and rotting _his_ stem only to bring _him_ back to life the next morning as a new bud. _His_ days were a cycle of life, death, and rebirth.

**His** days were spent on the verge of death, on the edge of a cataclysmic escarpment from which return would be impossible. **He** was like the leaves that _he_ brought **him**, full of blazing passion and the promise of one final day before oblivion. **He** was undying, unchanging, unable to escape **his** chronic symptoms of a disease known only as repetition. **He** was trapped within life, **his** life, and **he** would never move on to an afterlife.

This was partially because **he** would never consent to move on without _him_.

And then there was the fact that they already were dead. Dead to the world, dead to themselves, never dead to each other. Oh, but they weren't rotting, decaying, decomposing in the way every organism must. They formed for the other a preservative, far less toxic and infinitely more emotionally involved than caustic formaldehyde. **He** lived in _his_ eyes. _He_ lived in **his**. That was enough.

When the full moon shone in the night sky, with its pale light overcoming far off stars only to be replaced in turn by the overbearing force of the dawn, **he** gently woke _him_, hoping to show _him_ what he saw every night. The night, eclipsed, replaced by hollow graying light. It was, at first, to show _him_ how **he** lived, an attempt to repel _him_ with a show of implied darkness. **He** had always been sure of **his** feelings for _him_, so he had done it to convince **himself** of _his_ fidelity and love. But _he_ hadn't reacted the way **he** thought _he_ would. _He_ had thought it beautiful. Eventually, _he_ had convinced **him** as well, and so they spent one precious hour of their eternal lives each day watching the sun begin to rise, at least until _he_ fell asleep again.

"Gaara. I'm glad that I have you… that I could have the one who is important to me beside me always."

"I'm glad too. To think that someone would be able to care for me… To think that it would be a person like Haku…"

"I love you," they say in unison, and the day begins.

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So, that's that then. I hope you liked it. 

I hope it wasn't confusing, or anything. A few quick notes: irises stand for faith, wisdom, hope, courage, and admiration, and when given as gifts, they represent deep... love... or something. And, er, the whole "we're already dead" part, that can be taken a few different ways. Either they are dead to the rest of the world, and only seem to be alive when they are together, or they are in some alternate universe or something, or they... literally are dead. That's the one I like. (I'm so messed up...)

Anyway, please review if you enjoyed it! Or if you didn't enjoy it... Constructive criticism is appreciated, after all.


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